


Bring it on Home

by CaffeinaShips



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel eventually, Fix-it fic, M/M, There is no 15/20 and never was, cannon compliant major character death, cannon compliant through 15/19, cannon noncompliant resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28167927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinaShips/pseuds/CaffeinaShips
Summary: Jack is taking a stab at healing the damage done by Chuck. Some old friends are visited. Some wrongs are righted. This is a 'straight' up fix it fic. It has some very cheesy schmaltzy parts, and some annoying excess of human emotion. Still a better ending than they gave us. Not that 15/20 ever existed.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	Bring it on Home

Becky Rosen is dead. Don’t feel too bad for her though. Her beloved husband Roy is there. Her two beloved children are there. They have family pancake breakfasts, and plant tomatoes in the backyard. They play in the sprinkler and watch the kids learn to ride a bike. They watch movies with bowls of popcorn, and at night she kisses the kids good night. She goes on dates with Roy, and cuddles with him on the couch. 

Becky Rosen is dead. Ok, maybe feel a little bad for her. Becky Rosen has figured out Heaven is a cruel joke. Becky teaches Roy Jr. to ride a bike. She feels the pride of seeing him take those first wobbly pedals forward. Later she turns around and is on the same sidewalk again, watching him lurch forward again. But the pride is gone. She feels a horrible, overwhelming crushing sadness as she realizes he will never ride his bike to the corner store, or teach his own children to ride a bike. Because he is gone. Stopped. By a thoughtless, selfish God who cared nothing for his creations beyond some hollow entertainment. 

The weight of the realization pushes her to the ground and she sobs uncontrollably. Her son stops riding, and rushes to comfort her. The look on his face, the concern and love, breaks her heart. She has ruined this beautiful moment of pride for him. Except that she hasn’t. He isn’t really here, and he isn’t really real. He was disappeared by a violent, petulant God who destroyed her family and cast her here. 

In a flash she is in the delivery room holding him for the first time. The horror she feels looking down at this false baby is indescribable. She wants to throw the baby thing. She wants to clutch it to her and run away. She is screaming and screaming, hysterical with grief and pain. Suddenly she is in her childhood bedroom on Christmas morning. The memory of her parents are here, but her children and husband are gone again. And she already knows how and when her parents will die. They come in with smiles wiped immediately off of their faces when they find her in bed sobbing.

Becky doesn’t know how long she cried. It felt like ages, and maybe it was. Eventually the shocked and distressed looks on the faces of her loved ones force her to pull it together. She remembers the work she had done in therapy to stop allowing strong emotions to overwhelm her. Frequently she visits a memory of a particularly productive therapy session to help her cope with her grief and helplessness. She hugs the memory of her husband, and kisses her memories of her children and smiles as often as she can.

When the hollowness and falseness of it all gets to be too much Becky will visit her memories of late nights writing fanfic. The low light, her own little work space, the flowing of ideas into the clicking of keys had given her such a sense of accomplishment in life. Now, in Heaven, she sits in her memory of a chair and rages. She posts story after story about God as a villain. She writes about the hollowness of her existence. She writes about the loss of her family. She writes about the repetitive trauma of living the lives stolen from her children. The memory of likes and comments rolls into the stories but she never reads the comments or replies. No one was out there. She writes out her screams into nothingness.

After one cathartic night of ranting to her memory of AO3, shaky from a good cry, she shuts down her laptop and stands for bed. She turns around and finds herself in her bright sunny living room. She can hear the kids playing loudly upstairs. She’s used to the sudden shifts in time and place that accompany Heaven, but this one feels a little off. 

It’s then that she notices the young man standing on her stairs. He’s looking at her with a great intensity that makes her feel seen straight through. 

“I read your work. I read all your stories. I want you to know that I’m taking them seriously, that your experience matters and won’t be for nothing.”

She stares at him, unsure what to say. This isn’t a memory. This has never happened before. Is he an angel? There is a loud bang from upstairs. The man looks at the ceiling above them, and suddenly it goes quiet. Eerily quiet. Becky’s heart leaps into her throat, and her breath catches. She’s losing them again. Her panic shoots up. The man holds up his hands in a gesture of calm.

“They aren’t gone, they’re still up there. I just paused them for a few minutes while we talk. I have a lot to do, and I’ll be gone in a minute. When I leave they’ll unpause.”

“Who are you.” 

Becky’s hands are shaking. The fear feels unfamiliar. Her racing heart beat feels unfamiliar.

“My name is Jack. I’m taking over the job Chuck had, but I’m trying to do it better. More love, more understanding for his creations. The way my Dads taught me. I’m trying to undo some of his damage. It’s hard to know where to start and stop though. It’s hard to know when it’s been too long to save someone. I wish I could bring them all back.”

He looks so young, she thinks. Like he should be starting out at college, moving into his first dorm room. So young, and so serious, and he looks so deeply sad and troubled. Her anxiety eases just a touch and her heart slows down just a touch.

“Oh my God, my heart is beating!”

The realization makes her knees weak, and she grips the edge of the desk for support. She hadn’t actually felt her heart beat since Chuck killed her. Jack’s face breaks out into a wide smile, erasing all the care and filling his face with an inviting mirth. 

“I can’t save everyone, but I can save you and your family. Roy will be home from work in about half an hour. Tomorrow I believe there is a fishing trip planned? Chuck won’t be showing up to disrupt you this time. You have my word.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that one of my big projects is trying to make Heaven into something a little more Heavenly. I’m still working on my plans, but I wanted to tell you personally that I read all of your critiques, and I appreciate the notes. Hopefully by the next time we see you up there Heaven will be a place you are happy to be.”

The staircase is empty. There is another bang from upstairs. One of the kids is playing with a basketball inside. That is definitely against the rules. Becky’s knees give out and she finds herself laying on the floor next to her desk crying. For the first time in a long time they are tears of joy. 

-

Donna is dead. She’s dead and she won’t let it go. She knows the people around her are memories of friends and loved ones, but it drives her nuts that they don’t know. She knows there is no point in arguing, she knows there is no way to convince a shadow to be a person, but she just can’t let it go. 

She finds herself making cookies with her mother and trying to convince her mother to see the grown up she is, and not the 8 year old her mother thinks she is. She fishes with her Dad and finds herself grilling him about what they did yesterday, and what they planned for tomorrow, hoping he would see through the illusion. 

Seeing Jody is the hardest. Donna argues and argues with her dearest friend. She challenges her and fights with her. The benign kindness with which Jody deflects the legitimate points Donna makes causes Donna the only real distress she feels in this place. She finds herself avoiding the corners of Heaven in which she finds Jody because it’s painful to be so lovingly dismissed by the person in the world she trusted the most. 

Donna is dead, and she knows this is her eternity. She knows it’s better than Hell, The Empty, or Purgatory but she can’t let it go. She can’t stop trying. Logically she knows that nothing will ever come of it, nothing will change, and what she is attempting is impossible, but deep down in some part of her she can’t help Donna believes that if she can just convince one person, if only for an instant, that she can change things. She was a police officer. She is used to being able to plug away at a task, stick with it, and get the result she’s looking for. If she can just ask the right question… If she can just make the right point…

Jack is standing in her childhood kitchen. He’s sticking his finger in her mother’s cookie dough. He looks up and smiles at her. 

“Hello Donna. I need your help.”

She only sputters for a second. In her defense, it is her first spontaneous conversation since being killed by God. 

“Hi Jack. Long time no see… I assume. I can’t imagine what help I might have to offer you, this being Heaven and all, but why don’t you go on and tell me what’s up and I’ll let you know what I can do.”

Jack licks the dough off of his finger and looks pleased with the flavor. Donna’s mother moves around him as if he weren’t there, rubbing grease on a cookie sheet. Jack politely steps aside to give her more room at the table. 

“I want to bring back everyone who was hiding with you in that silo. Well, I want to bring back everyone God killed recently, but I think I will let the adults from the silo remember Heaven. They already know about Chuck, it seems pointless to deceive them about what happened.”

Donna is struggling to keep her neutral cop face on. Hope and joy are bubbling up and she’s having difficulty keeping it all contained. But she’s dealt with the supernatural before, she knows not to let her hopes get away from her.

“What did happen Jack? I watched everyone disappear, and then I was here. Just how exactly do you plan to bring everyone back, memories or no?”

“Oh, yeah, that.”

Jack reaches out with his non-licked index finger and boops her on the forehead. Suddenly she knows it all. From Sam and Jack leaving the silo alone, to Jack and the Winchesters walking away from human Chuck by the lake. 

“You see, I want to try to undo the damage. I want to make this a better place, and give people a chance to be better people. I feel like erasing their memories wouldn’t be a good start to that. But I also can’t really sit down with everyone and have these meetings individually. It’s not practical with all the work I need to do. But I want them to understand. I want them to know that I’m going to try to make it better, that the Heaven they return to the next time will be different. I need you to explain it to them. When we get back will you tell them what I showed you? Will you tell them that I’m trying?”

Donna never was one to hold on to cynicism very long, and when she looks at Jack she feels a trust and an earnestness in him that she can't imagine feeling from Chuck. She believes him, she believes he can make it better. 

And also her heart breaks for him a little. He looks so young, and the job he has to do is so enormous. She struggles to find words. She wants to thank him. She wants to tell him how sorry she is. She wants to hug him and cry for the both of them. Like most points when she doesn’t know what to do she leans on the power of her midwestern-ness to guide her. 

“Well sure thing! If that’s what you want I’m darn good at talking. I’ll do my best to get your message across”

Jack beams. 

“I know you are. I’ve been hearing you. You are very persuasive.”

And she is standing in a well warded silo in a group of confused, stunned looking friends. Donna knows what needs to be done. She turns over the bucket and climbs up onto it so she is a good head taller than the crowd. 

“Alright everyone listen up. Do I have one heck of a story to tell to you, and believe me you are all going to want to hear it. Does anyone have any paper? We should think about writing this all down while it’s still fresh…”

-

Jody is dead. But she’s fine with it. Really. She has everything in Heaven that she has ever wanted. She has her son, back and whole. She has her husband, alive and well. They have family dinners and go to little league games. She plays with toy trains in her living room, and reads her son book after book. 

When she gets restless she revisits her favorite hunts, or spends time with Bobby, or visits her Wayward Girls. She drinks whiskey with old friends, and drinks tea with long lost friends. She can be a cop, mom, hunter, friend, mentor, wife, girlfriend, daughter, or granddaughter whenever she wants. Everything she’s ever wanted for herself is right here available to her. 

Jody is dead and she is absolutely NOT definitely not totally not getting a little bit bored with it. She’s frying eggs for a Sunday morning breakfast with her son for the fourth time in a row, and she is not bored. She’s watching her husband read the book she gave him for Christmas (a Christmas she’s relived a dozen times already) and she is not bored. She is carefully sliding the egg onto the plastic plate with the picture of a dog on it for her son and she is not bored. 

She turns to bring the plate to the table and almost drops it. Jack is sitting at the table across from her husband watching her carefully. He flashes his cheerful smile and waves his awkward wave.

“Hello”

Jody slowly puts the plate down in front of him. She should be calling her son in for breakfast, but he will be happy to watch another round of cartoons before eating. Her husband doesn’t respond to the intruder at all. Jack looks down at the eggs in front of him a little sadly.

“I never got to have breakfast with my mom. I’ve stopped in and visited her a couple of times since I got my new job, but I have wondered what it would be like to have been a kid with parents. It’s a normal human experience I will never be able to have. I find myself wondering what I missed by never being a child.”

Jody stands, unsure. She knows herself well enough to know she is a sucker for a parentless child, but she isn’t sure Jack is looking to be comforted. Before she can decide what to say Jack straightens up and smiles at her.

“Are you happy in Heaven, Jody?”

Jody hesitates only for an instant, but Jack picks up on it immediately.

“Heaven needs a lot of work. I can see how someone might think it was a good idea if they didn’t really understand what humans want. Or didn’t care. I’m working on some ideas. I think one thing that is missing is any real human connections. It seems weird to design humans to want to be together, to connect to and love one another, and then make them spend eternity essentially alone. That needs fixing.

“In the meantime I’m resurrecting all the people Chuck killed in the end. Most people I’m just bringing back, but I wanted to check on you. I thought it might be possible that you would be happier here with your son, but I can see now you aren’t. Hopefully next time you are here you can be with your real son, instead of this memory. Would you like to be returned back to life?”

Jody is dead. Jody is dead and in Heaven and positively ecstatic to be leaving. 

-

Rowena is dead. Rowena is dead and she knows she’s bored. Rowena is the Queen of Hell and sits on a throne and commands legions of demons who respect and obey her. She has been improving upon and amending her son Crowley’s essential design while being reminded constantly of the lost opportunity to get to know her child as an adult. She sits in his chair, and orders around his minions. She pets his Hell-Hounds. She… well she fired his tailor and replaced him with a very good seamstress. 

Rowena knows she should be glad to rule. She has a position and authority and can make her own rules. Rowena has always been a survivor. Except she didn’t survive. Rowena has always survived because she loved and valued life more than anything. The beat of her heart, the joy of accomplishing, the thrill of experience. Hell is a kind of existence, but it is no life. 

Rowena knows how to put on a good face and how to hide an emotion. She commands, she organizes, she dazzles, as she always has. But inside she is empty. She eats the finest foods but doesn’t take any pleasure in it. She drinks the finest scotch and misses lost friends. The alcohol brings no sense of celebration or relaxation. She doesn’t sleep because demons don’t have to sleep. She wanders the halls of her kingdom hollowed out, lost, lonely. 

There is no thrill in being dead. She sits in meetings and projects all of the wit and charm that she can while also wondering if this is how Crowley felt for all those years. She hates him for being gone. She hates herself for caring. But hate also takes an output of energy and feeling, so it’s more accurate to say she resents him and hates herself.

She looks forward to and dreads any updates on the battle against God. She misses the Winchesters painfully. She also misses the thrill of solving a puzzle and, to her surprise, doing good for the world. Hearing about the adventures of those she knew in life makes her feel more sad and more alone. She may have been evil in life, she thinks, but it is the emptiness of ruling Hell that will turn her into a demon. Existence is a torture she doesn’t quite dare to escape.

Currently Rowena is ending a meeting about the souls that had suddenly appeared in Hell from Chuck’s purge of humanity, and then disappeared just as suddenly. Rowena doesn’t care about the souls one way or the other, but hearing about the Winchester’s triumph over Chuck without her is hurting her chest so viscerally she struggles to believe that she isn’t bleeding her heart’s blood onto the floor for all to see. Instead she listens and leads with her usual grace as demon after demon fawn over her while criticizing Crowley’s old leadership. All of which Rowena receives gracefully.

Rowena’s smile and energy snap off like a light switch as the door shuts behind the demons. She sits alone on the throne deflated and despondent. She rubs her face, and when she looks up Jack is standing in front of the door watching her. Seeing him jolts her with a fresh force of pain and longing. Hundreds of years of instinct kick in to override her shock and turn the charm back on.

“Well, if it isn’t the Angel’s Angel. And what brings you down to my humble kingdom?”

“I need to talk to you about the future of Hell.”

“Ah, business then, is it?”

“Mostly. I also want to talk to you about your future too.”

She lets out a little laugh that impressively almost doesn’t sound bitter at all.

“My future? My boy, maybe you haven’t heard, being so busy saving the world and all, but I’ve died. I believe you are seeing my future and my present.”

“I know. What you did was very brave, and also a terrible shame. Your death was another loss caused by Chuck’s selfishness. It shouldn’t have been this way.”

“Well, what’s done is done, laddie, and there’s no sense crying over spilled blood.” She gestures around her “And I do manage to keep myself busy.”

“You do. Which is why I am hoping you will help me. I don’t know if you heard, but I have taken over Chuck’s powers. I’m trying to remake the afterlife into something kinder, more loving. Something less cruel and punitive.”

“Well I hate to break it to you sweetie, but you aren’t exactly describing Hell.”

“I know. That’s why I’m hoping you will help me close Hell. I would like to integrate all the souls into a new, better version of Heaven. I haven’t worked out all of the details yet but ultimately I would like to close Hell, and The Empty, and at least drastically change Purgatory, but my first project will be closing Hell. You know Hell better than anyone, and I could use your help understanding and integrating the Demons. You have always been very resourceful, you might have good ideas for the new redesign.”

“Sonny, down here I’m a Queen. Why would I help you take away my throne? What could possibly be in it for me?”

“Life. But not right away. If you help me, when the new Heaven is functioning and the last demon has been incorporated I will put you back on Earth. I can promise you 40 years. After that you can use whatever magic you are ethically comfortable with to buy you more time, but your time from me will be up.”

“And what is your proposed timeline to get started on this… project?”

“I have a couple of other things I need to clear up first. In two days I’ll come back and we’ll start talking about my plans. It might be a while before the transition is fully complete, but I hope it will be weeks and not years. I can’t make any promises though. I’ve never done this before.”

Starting in two days. Alive again in weeks.

“Well Lad, as always, you can count on Auntie Rowena.”

Rowena is dead, but it’s a temporary condition. For the first time since dying Rowena has hope. 

-

Jack isn’t dead, but he isn’t exactly part of the land of the living either. If Jack is corporeal it’s because he chooses to be. Jack is focusing on the universe as a whole, and on each individual organism and soul in the universe. If he focuses too long on the universe he can feel himself lose sight of the individuals. If he focuses too much on the individual he can lose track of the state of the universe and he worries something will slip. The constant balance between the micro and the macro will start to give him a headache. Jack has found making himself corporeal for a few minutes will ease the tension and cut the headache. Learning to hold the universe in his head is going to take some practice, but Jack is pretty sure he will get the hang of it. 

The world looks very different to a God, Jack is learning. He can see the flow of time and space, feel the movement of molecules, and touch the fabric of the world. He’s learning so much about how the universe builds itself, and how it breaks apart. Since becoming a God he’s discovered forces of movement and change that he never knew existed and hadn’t thought to dream. It’s exhilarating, and Jack reminds himself not to let it overwhelm him.

Jack is glad to materialize to have these brief conversations with his friends. Aside from needing to do important work it also feels good to have a moment of human connection again. Jack feels a love for all creation that he was puzzled to realize that Chuck had never felt, but he will always have a special love for the people he considers family. 

Which is why Jack is excited for his next tasks.

“Hi Sam. Hi Dean.”

Jack appears in front of the table where Sam and Dean are sharing a beer. There are many hugs shared. Inevitably almost immediately they ask about how being God is going. 

“It is going well, I think. I am starting to put together some plans to correct some of Chuck’s mistakes. I think I can do better. But I will need some help. I’ve been talking to a few of our old friends and I’m almost ready to start. There’s just a couple more things I need to do.”

“Yeah, of course, anything we can do. We’re here to help in any way you need.”

They both offer. Jack sees the hope, and the genuine eagerness, and also the pain on their faces. They have both lost so much. They both desperately hope for healing, and both don’t dare to hope. It has only been a day from their point of view since he disappeared from their view on that street. At the time he had been unsure if he would see them in person again. Now he knows that the occasional visit will be necessary to keep him grounded and balanced. Jack suspects he will always need to take walks among the living for his own health. 

“I will definitely be needing both of you. But right now I need to speak to Dean. Sam, Eileen returned to life about 5 minutes ago. She’s currently standing in front of the post office downtown. She has her phone, I’m sure she would appreciate an update.”

Sam jumps up, looking ecstatic, and lost. He looks to Dean for permission.

“Go. Call her, text her, whatever. Go pick her up and fill her in. Jack and I can handle ourselves.”

“It’s OK Sam. I will be back. I will see you soon.”

Sam opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and quickly walks out of the room with his phone in his hand. Jack watches him go, tracing the trail of Sam’s emotional energy as he walks away. He leaves a wake of caring, love, worry, joy, behind him and Jack feels those emotions like ripples in the world. Part of being a Jack God, if not a Chuck God was recognizing that emotions leave real, tangible mark on the universe. Even if that impact is indecipherable to humans. The change in the universe is miniscule, but present. Jack can feel that the universe could be made a better place in small part at least just by increasing the amount of loving feelings compared to the amount of angry, hateful feelings. But the state of emotions in the universe now is, well, bad. There is much work to be done. Jack is also well aware of the hope and despair flowing out from Dean. 

“I need your help Dean, and it can only be you. I need to find Castiel so he can help me remake Heaven, I need to decide what to do about The Empty, and I really miss him.”

Jack watches the hope and love conflict with the despair in Dean, and the despair win.

“Me too, kid. Me too. But I promise you that if I knew how to find him, I would be there already, kicking in The Empty’s door.”

Jack sits. He could reach out and pat Dean’s arm but he knows that would be unwelcome

“I know you would, but it takes both of us. I can’t see into The Empty. It’s closed to me. Once I know where he is we can go there and wake him up. But I need you to lead me to him.”

“Jack, you know I would love to help” 

Dean’s voice wavers a little and he sets his jaw. Jack knows Dean would never cry over Castiel’s loss in front of him, but Jack wishes he would. Jack thinks it would be good for him, and for Dean. 

“But I have no frickin clue how to get to the empty, let alone how to find Cas once we’re there.”

Jack looks at his hands, then at Dean. Dean swirls with grief and sadness, loss and hopelessness. It reaches out around him and brushes their names carved into the table. It reaches into the chairs around them, into the sole lamp sitting on the table. It reaches down the hall toward Sammy, and away from them toward the kitchen. It roams it’s way toward Dean’s room. Jack can also see Dean’s love for Jack too. Jack would never have to wonder how the Winchesters really feel about him again, because he can see it physically.

“Dean, Ever since I absorbed the last of God’s powers I’ve been able to see energy flowing. I can see human feelings. I don’t have the right words for it yet but it looks to me as if the feelings humans have sort of blend together with other forces, influence one another, and influence the universe somehow. It’s one of the things I need to spend more time understanding. But I am absolutely sure that the whole universe could be a happier place. And I can do that. I can fix Heaven and make the souls there happier. I can save Hell, and make the demons happy again. I can actually make the world a better place. I know that sounds silly, but I really think it will work. 

“But I need Castiel. He knows more about Heaven, and being an Angel, and loving humanity than anybody. I need someone to guide me, and to keep me grounded. I get so lost in the big picture sometimes. I need someone who can stay connected to Heaven and to earth. And I can’t reach him without you. I love him, I do, but I just get so confused by the tangle of feelings everywhere. I don’t know if it’s the God thing, or if it’s because the way I love him is different than the way you love each other, but I can’t find him in the big black void of The Empty.

“I need you to pray to Cas, Dean, and really feel it. I need you to use your heart to reach out to him. I believe your prayer can find him, and I can follow that prayer to where he is. He won’t be able to hear you, but the prayers will reach him, and I can trace it to him.”

Jack expects skepticism from Dean, he expects questions or resistance. He thinks Dean might need some time to collect himself. But when he finishes speaking and really looks at Dean all he sees is longing. Of course Dean will help him. Dean meets Jack's gaze with eyes red rimmed with sadness. 

“Should I move somewhere else? Get more comfortable?”

“Will that help you focus?”

“No.”

Dean leans back in his chair a little and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. This is the point, thinks Jack, that if someone were meditating their face would relax. But instead of relaxing Dean’s face openly grieves. Almost immediately a tear begins to gather itself in the corner of his eye. He breathes in again and lets out a ragged sigh of pain and longing. 

Jack settles back in his seat and refines his focus. He purposefully shuts out the prayers of all the praying humans on earth. He reels in all of his attention and pours it exclusively into watching Dean. Dean is shrouded with swirling dark haze punctuated by what look like sharp diamonds of a luminous black. Dean’s grief. It flows and glitters around him like a dangerous wall obscuring him from others, and distancing him. It looks the same as all grief Jack has seen. Like it would weigh down your lungs, and slice you at unexpected times. Like anyone who tried to touch you would come away bleeding. And like all grief it is also uniquely Dean’s. It is his storm cloud, and his alone. Though Sam is carrying a similar cloud for Rowena, though the clouds would both look black and glittery, each is individual to them. 

As Jack watches he observes the tear escape Dean’s closed lid and roll down his cheek. A gentle gold begins to gather around the area of Dean’s chest. Dean’s love. All at once it shot out from him like a tether. Like the hand of a compass pointing north. Jack can see Dean’s lips move a little as Dean concentrates on his prayer. Jack makes no effort to read the words there, he can feel them in the golden beam leading them to Castiel. 

Jack lets go of his corporeal form and Becomes God. As gently as he can he slips his hand into Dean’s hand, and then pulls them both forward along the beam. They are at once themselves, and also the beam of light, which is both coming from Dean and Dean himself. They are moving rapidly forward through space, while also being outside of space. Jack is glad Dean is unaware of the process because Jack is sure he would never be able to explain it.

Jack feels them enter The Empty, or rather Jack feels everything in the universe fall away leaving nothing but themselves. Dean still holds his eyes closed, and still focuses on his prayer. Jack isn’t sure if Dean is even aware that they have left the bunker. Dean’s perception of this journey must be so different, Jack realizes, if he perceives it at all. The golden light, like angel grace in a way, points now like an arrow. Jack follows it, and lands them both in complete nothingness next to Castiel’s sleeping form. The whole trip has taken a fraction of a second. Jack lets go of Dean’s hand, and Dean mutters an Amen. 

Dean opens his eyes, and drops to his knees beside Cas. He lays a gentle hand on Cas’s shoulder and shakes him lightly.

“Cas?”

“He can’t hear you.”

Both Jack and Dean turn to face an identical copy of Jack, standing in front of Jack. Dean doesn’t leave his place beside Cas. The Empty regards them with a malicious grin.

“I’ve turned him off. He’s so noisy. He promised to come willingly, and he did. He told me he would stay, and he will. He is mine now. He will finally be quiet. He will finally let me sleep. All I want is to sleep. And now you are here, making a new racket. Why can’t you just leave me to sleep!”

It is clear that The Empty is becoming quite upset. Jack obliges and puts him into a deep sleep. The copy of Jack that is The Empty crumples to the floor and rests. Jack regards his sleeping form.

“Of all of Chuck’s creations I find this one to be the most discouraging. What can I do with it? To create a being that only wants to sleep, that is in such agony when it isn’t sleeping. Why would you make such a thing? How can it be redeemed? What can I do with it except leave it here sleeping forever? Why would Chuck make such a creature? All of the beings here can, in time, be woken and moved to a better version of Heaven that can accommodate them, but this poor thing… Until I have a better answer I just have to leave it sleeping alone.”

Dean still kneels by Castiel, one hand still resting on Cas’s shoulder, watching Jack watch the sleeping Jack doppelganger.

“It’s alright Dean, he should wake up now.”

Dean looks back down at Cas and gives his shoulder a slightly rougher shake.

“Cas? Cas buddy, it’s time to wake up. Come on Cas, you need to wake up, OK.”

Cas moves a little, rolls onto his side, and slowly pulls himself into a sitting position. He looks at Dean, but doesn’t quite meet his eye.

“Hello Dean”

Cas looks up toward Jack and smiles.

“Hello Jack, you look well”

Jack breaks into a smile in return, but The Empty is no place for pleasantries. Jack leans over and places a hand on the shoulder of each of his companions. Now that he knows the way it is an easy thing to relocate the three of them to the bunker.

They return to the library and find Sam is sitting at the table with Eileen signing to each other about the events of the recent past. They look up, momentarily startled by the appearance of Jack, Dean, and Cas.

“Cas!” 

Sam starts to stand, but the intensity with which Dean and Cas are looking at each other puts Sam back in his seat. Cas shifts uncomfortably.

“Dean, I…”

“Save it”

Dean grabs the sides of Castiel’s face and kisses him roughly. He pulls away from the kiss, looks as though he is going to say something, shakes his head and kisses Cas again, before pulling away and shoving Cas back hard. Cas stumbles a little step backwards. Dean’s face is set with stubborn fury. No one notices Jack de-materialize and sneak out. He has other jobs to do.

“How dare you tell me you love me just before you die! You KNEW The Empty would take you, you KNEW you were leaving me alone, and you chose that moment, that moment of ALL of our moments to tell me you love me. You selfish asshole! You dick!” How could you do that to me? Do you know what it means to have to lose you again? To not even have your coat this time? You didn’t even leave me the damn coat! What the hell sort of life was I supposed to live sitting here passing my days thinking about how we never got any time together. I never got to tell you how I feel. That you DIED not knowing that I love you! And you left me again! You ASSHOLE!”

“Never again” Castiel almost whispers. “I will never leave you again. That was the last time.”

“Your GODDAMN RIGHT that was the last time!”

Dean grabs Cas’s hand and starts toward his bedroom, Cas following behind compliantly. 

“We are going to be fighting about this for YEARS Cas, YEARS. I hope you know that.”

Sam listens to the sound of Dean’s fuming grow distant down the hall, and then the punctuating sound of a door slam shut. He meets Eileen’s eyes, and she giggles a little at the look of patient, confused relief on Sam’s face. He shakes his head. Typical.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for spncoldesthits the best supernatural monthly writing challenge ever. This month's theme is to end it the way we think it should have been ended. I'm not sure this is the way I think it SHOULD have ended, but I know it's a better ending than we got. 
> 
> for a fun bonus I tried to include the 5 stages of grief in the different characters.
> 
> Becky is anger, Donna is bargaining, Jody is denial, Rowena is depression, and Jack is acceptance.


End file.
